


Reminiscence

by manamune (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuddling, Domesticity, M/M, Reunion, Secret Santa, physical injury, the timeline is very vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9272648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/manamune
Summary: “Some idiot—” Keith hisses as Shiro ties the gauze, “—Some idiot was bragging about mugging an old lady. So I told him to pick on someone his own size. He challenged me to a fight in the ring. It got a little out of control.”Shiro pats the gauze after it’s secured. It doesn’t loosen. Hopefully it’ll keep for the next couple of hours. “I’m assuming he walked away worse than you?”“Of course,” Keith scoffs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For kithsetotis, for the Shiro/Keith Secret Santa. Sorry this is so late and I hope you enjoy! ♥

The lights are on when Shiro gets home.

It’s not unusual for him to forget to turn them off, but it’s only ever the kitchen light, forgotten in the wake up him rushing to work; right now, the lights on his porch flicker overhead of him, and he knows that someone is in his home.

He shoves his key into the door a few times before he manages to shove it open. It squeaks loudly—so much for sneaking in, he thinks, and notes the pair of familiar shoes placed haphazardly in the hallway.

“Keith?” Shiro shuts the door behind him and slips off his own shoes. He turns into the kitchen and—Ah, the lights are on in there, too, as expected. In the middle, behind the island, Keith is hunched over the sink. “Hey.”

Keith doesn’t look up as he answers, “Hey.”

That can’t be good. Shiro walks over and curls an arm over Keith’s middle, hiding his face into Keith’s hair. He smells like soot and blood; Shiro’s eyes drift towards Keith’s hand, torn up on the side, and then the bloodied bandages beside the sink.

“I missed you. What happened?” Shiro asks, ruffling Keith’s hair a little.

He knew, way back when they’d first met, that Keith’s life was wholly different from his own. Sometimes it seemed like they weren’t even on the same wavelength. Where Shiro was doted on by his mother, Keith was practically abandoned by his father; and while that should have made them fit together—Shiro was missing a father, Keith was missing a mother—Keith’s proneness to emotional outbursts meant that when both their parents died, his solution was to go off the grid rather than let Shiro help him.

What Keith got himself into during the year that he and Shiro weren’t in contact, he doesn’t know. But sometimes Keith comes home with cut-up fists or bloodied ankles, and it’s enough to make Shiro’s own hands clench. He’s never thought about getting involved in crime; he’s a pretty average guy, all in all, aside from what most people consider to be an extraordinarily interesting job. But for Keith, he would gladly do so, if it ensured their safety.

“Boxing match,” Keith says simply, glancing up at Shiro. Likely to make sure Shiro knows he’s being honest—Keith isn’t good at reigning in his temper or his lies. His expression always gives it away, either from guilt or poorly repressed anger. Right now, he just looks tired. The lines underneath his eyes remind Shiro that they aren’t young enough to throw themselves into everything head-on anymore. He wishes Keith would recognize that as well.

“Boxing match,” Shiro repeats.

Keith snorts a little and rubs some cream onto the wound on the side of his hand. “Okay, it was more like a fist fight. It started off as a boxing match.”

Shiro hums, pressing his fingers to Keith’s wrist. His heart clenches thinking about Keith hitting some asshole so hard that his own skin splits open—he takes a deep breath and attempts to steel himself. “May I?”

Keith’s fingers go lax. “Yeah.”

Shiro observes Keith’s hand. The blood has begun to clot over the wound, but he’s not sure if it’s deep enough to warrant stitches. Shiro’s decently adept at first-aid, but he’d rather not risk fucking up the stitches. “Do you want me to call Hunk?”

“I can call him myself,” Keith huffs. Shiro smiles fondly; he remembers a time when that wouldn’t have been true. “No. It’s fine. I just need to wrap it again.”

“I’ll do it,” Shiro says before Keith can object. He opens up the cabinet over the microwave and pulls out a roll of gauze. It’s almost finished. He’ll need to go to the store and buy more; maybe stock up if there’s a sale. Knowing Keith, it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

He winds the gauze over the cut on Keith’s hand, careful to not let the pieces snag on each other. Keith stays relatively still for him, shifting uncomfortably only when Shiro tightens it.

“How exactly did you get into a boxing match?” Shiro’s tone is light, joking; of course Keith would get into one, he takes practically every opportunity he can get to pick a fight. But there’s a myriad of underlying concern in it, too. 

“Some idiot—” Keith hisses as Shiro ties the gauze, “—Some idiot was bragging about mugging an old lady. So I told him to pick on someone his own size. He challenged me to a fight in the ring. It got a little out of control.”

Shiro pats the gauze after it’s secured. It doesn’t loosen. Hopefully it’ll keep for the next couple of hours. “I’m assuming he walked away worse than you?”

“Of course,” Keith scoffs.

Shiro releases him. They stand across from each other for a moment, and then Keith’s free hand is winding into his hair, tugging him down.

“I missed you too,” he whispers, and kisses Shiro right on the mouth. 

Keith’s lips are chapped; they always have been. The way he moves against Shiro, though, is soft. Shiro knows Keith can be gentle when he wants to be, but the discrepancy between his cutthroat words and the way he melts with his hands to Shiro’s chest tugs on his heartstrings—it’s for him, and Shiro bares himself in return. 

Keith exhales and the air flutters over Shiro’s skin. His whole body tingles, warm. “Can I use your shower?”

Shiro fingers the edge of Keith’s shirt, rubbing his thumb over the patch of exposed skin at his hip. He secretly likes Keith’s jacket, cut like a crop top; though he knows, logically, that it’s completely impractical. “It’s your shower too,” he reminds him gently.

Keith smiles a little at that. Shiro has no intention of making him feel guilty. He just wishes he could open up his mind and show Keith how true that is—how much Shiro loves him, how he’ll always be there for him. 

“Yeah, it is,” Keith agrees. “You’ll be in bed when I get out?”

Shiro nods. He hopes he has a pair of pyjamas cleaned for Keith. Generally, he does laundry every few days, but he’s been so caught up in work that he hasn’t had the time. “I’ll lay out some pyjamas for you. And then we can cuddle.”

“You’re such a sap,” Keith laughs. He grabs both of Shiro’s hands. Shiro squeezes back with his good hand, over Keith’s good hand. “I’m finally here again and all you want to do is cuddle?”

Shiro smiles back, looking over Keith, at how his eyes are crinkled and his cheeks are flushed with happiness. “You heard me.”

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” Keith says, letting go of his hands.

“Take your time.”

Shiro hears the shower click on, then the sound of running water hitting the floor, and heaves a sigh. Seeing Keith does a lot of things to him—it fills him with concern and elation and love all at once. He needs to sleep it off, preferably with Keith beside him. 

Thankfully, he does have a worn shirt that Keith can wear to bed, and a pair of boxers that should fit him well enough. When he crawls into bed himself, his eyes instantly feel heavy. He flicks through the news on his phone, keeping the screen bright in order to force himself to stay awake.

He’s struggling to even move his thumb across the screen when the bedroom door opens. The sight of Keith with his hair wet instantly stirs Shiro back to consciousness.

“Good shower?” Shiro asks. “Pyjamas are on the dresser.”

“Yeah.” Keith rolls his shoulders. “It felt nice.”

Shiro averts his gaze as Keith drops the towel onto the ground and puts on the shirt Shiro left out for him. He knows Keith won’t care either way, but it feels wrong to stare at him when Keith isn’t staring back—and there’s a little bit of selfishness in his actions, too. He wants to sleep, and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stop himself from kissing Keith if he sees the slope of his back, the curve of his hips, the scars leading up and down his legs. Just seeing his face makes Shiro breathless.

Keith slides underneath the sheets next to him, knocking him out of his thoughts, and throws his legs over Shiro’s.

“Let’s get breakfast in the morning,” Shiro blurts out, voice barely a mumble. He turns off the light and rolls onto his good side, hugging Keith close.

“Alright,” Keith says easily. He peers up at Shiro. “Except you know you’re not going to wake up that early. And neither will I.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, settling with his cheek to the top of Keith’s head. “Lunch, then.”

Keith winds his fingers with Shiro’s. Pressed so close, he can feel as Keith’s body slowly relaxes into the comfort of their bed. “It’s a date.”

He falls asleep smiling—something that only happens with Keith is sleeping beside him, and that in itself is more than enough to give him good dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> [main blog](http://shirogane.tumblr.com)   
>  [twitter](http://twitter.com/tsukaleoluvr69)   
>  [writing blog](http://forgive.tumblr.com)


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